ral, and physical well-being--of my country and my fellow
citizens. Ahem! I suppose--I believe it is the custom--a--in short, am I
at liberty to choose an assistant?"

"We were just talkin' about that," said Salem Rock.

"Yes, you choose your own assistant, of course; but--well, it's usual to
choose someone that's agreeable to folks. I believe the village has
generally had some say in the matter; not officially, you understand,
just kind of complimentary. We nominate you, and you kind o' consult us
about who you'll have in to help. That seems about square, don't it?
Doctor Stedman recommended you to Isr'el, I remember."

There was an assenting hum.

Mr. Homer leaned out of the window, all his self-consciousness gone.

"Mr. Rock," he said, eagerly, "I wish most earnestly--I am greatly
desirous of having William Jaquith as my assistant. I--he appears to me
a most suitable person. I beg, gentlemen--I hope, boys, that you will
agree with me. The only son of his mother, and she is a widow."

He paused, and looked anxiously at the elders.

They had all turned toward him when he appeared, some even going so far
as to set their chairs on four legs, and hitching them forward so that
they might command a view of their beneficiary.

But now, with one accord, they turned their faces seaward, and became to
all appearance deeply interested in a passing sail.

"The only son of his mother, and she is a widow!" Mr. Homer repeated,
earnestly.

Salem Rock crossed and recrossed his legs uneasily.

"That's all very well, Homer," he said. "No man thinks more of Scripture
than what I do, in its place; but this ain't its place. This ain't a
question of widders, it's a question of the village. Will Jaquith is a
crooked stick, and you know it."

"He has been, Brother Rock, he has been!" said Mr. Homer, eagerly. "I
grant you the past; but William is a changed man, he is, indeed. He has
suffered much, and a new spirit is born in him. His one wish is to be
his mother's stay and support. If you were to see him, Brother Rock, and
talk with him, I am sure you would feel as I do. Consider what the poet
says: 'The quality of mercy is not strained!'"

"Mebbe it ain't, so fur!" said Seth Weaver; "question is, how strong its
back is. If I was Mercy, I should consider Willy Jaquith quite a lug.
Old man Butters used to say:

"'Rollin' stones you keep your eyes on!
Some on 'em's pie, and some on 'em's pison.'"

"--His appointment wou